


the Morning After

by perfect_little_fool



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternative Universe - Allison Alive, F/M, Fluff, Morning After, Sexual Tension, So much fluff it's coming out of their ears, Some things are canon some things are not ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2308766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_little_fool/pseuds/perfect_little_fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going out drinking with friends is a normal night for Lydia and Stiles, but what they end up doing afterwards isn't really all that normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> The italicized part is what happened the night before. That's pretty easy to get. And apologies for the amount of fluff but Stydia is my number one OTP and I just had to do at least one fic. Precious babies unnnn

A light trail of steam rises from the pan in front of Stiles as he pokes at the white of the egg, blowing hot in his face so it created a faint blush across his easily-tainted cheeks. The red that steadily grew felt all-too familiar to Lydia, a small chuckle almost passing her lips before she bites the soft side of her tongue just in time so he wouldn’t discover her peeking just yet. 

Her head was poking out of the doorway to the kitchen just barely, her strawberry hair spilling over her back and shoulders like a waterfall of loose curls. Never had she felt the need to hide herself when being in the home of Stiles Stilinski—but this was no ordinary let’s-hang-out-and-eat-Chinese-food-while-watching-Sex-in-the-City-reruns day like she normally had the with the lanky brunette. Her top teeth dig into her full bottom lip, her own rendition of a flamed flush taking over the fair skin below her cheekbones.

He was shirtless. After last night, of course, the sight didn’t cause Lydia to stammer or lose her balance seeing as she’d now seen more than just his naked torso, but she couldn’t stop the slight tremor in her fingers as she reached up to grab at the doorjamb she was peering around or the minor way the pulse at her neck skipped a beat. 

But he was shirtless _and cooking_. A sight not many got to see, Lydia liked to believe, since he was not an avid chef, nor did he take many women home when the group went out for drinks.

A little smile tugs at the corners of her lips at that thought. 

_“AaaaaaaoooOOOH!”_

_Stiles’ poor version of a howl made the group around them laugh, a hearty one that was nothing short of genuine and happy. The buzz about them was infectious and long-overdue, Lydia couldn’t help but think, as she took a sip of her fruity alcoholic drink. Derek had been sure to give her a teasing stare as she ordered it fifteen minutes ago, but she would never be ashamed of ordering something easy for her to swallow._

_“Might wanna work on that a bit, bud,” Scott laughs, reaching over to slap Stiles’ back firmly. His best friend stretches up an arm to settle against the back of Allison’s seat. “If you were an Alpha with your own pack of Betas, I doubt any of them would be scared into submission from the sound of that.”_

_“Ye of little faith, McCall,” Stiles scoffs as he grabs at his glass of beer. “Just because your roar can signal all the fucking werewolves on the West Coast doesn’t mean you have to belittle mine.”_

_“I’m pretty sure it does,” Derek contradicts quickly with his own light-hearted smile._

_Braeden nudges at her mate’s hand before looking at the boy who made a fool of himself in front of the entire bar just moments before. “I think it sounded very intimidating, Stiles. Really. Maybe a nice herd of puppies are about to come bounding through that door any minute now.”_

_This earned her a nice table-full of laughs, making Stiles frown. “A whole litter of puppies?” he scoffs, immediately trying to turn her back-handed compliment into something he could gain, per usual. “Why that would make me upset, I have no idea. You’d be dying to have those cute little shits in your pack in five seconds, Scott.”_

_Lydia smiles, holding her straw in between her pointer finger and thumb as she had been seconds from sipping from it. “It would certainly make anyone want to be in your pack, Stiles. Could use it to your advantage.”_

_Said boy gazes back over at her, her reward for her comment being his wide grin._

“Are you gonna stand over there spying on me for the next thirty minutes or are you going to join me in the kitchen where there’s actual human interaction?”

The peeping-girl takes a step back at her being discovered, her bare feet making _pit-pat_ noises on the hardwood flooring of Stiles’ apartment. But she holds her head high and struts forward into the kitchen, coming up behind him where he was cooking their eggs and bacon. “Not my fault I like what I see.”

His head turns to smile down at her, his always-bright eyes practically as vivid as the sun this morning. “That makes two of us,” he winks, grabbing the spatula at his right to scoop one of his finished eggs onto the plate in front of Lydia. 

She watches him make their food in silence, feeling like she was almost intruding on his peaceful moment before. When she’d just been watching from behind the doorway (“Peeping like a true Tom” as Stiles had joked) he had been whistling and moving his hips like the dork he was, but now he was just cooking with precise care, smiling over at the girl leaning against his fridge every once in a while. 

And, finally, she decides to break the cool atmosphere.

“So…” her throat runs dry at what she was planning to say. “Last night was…an experience.”

His back immediately tenses up from where he’d turned away from her for a moment and she instantly regrets saying anything. 

_One beer turned into two and three and five and maybe six but he wasn’t sure if he’d finished that glass. He was over by the jukebox, flipping through options before landing on a Madonna song. “Not all virgins are touched for the very first time during their first time,” Stiles slurs out from where his face was pressed against the glass of the music machine. “I mean, they could have been like fingered or like eaten out maybe but just hadn’t been penetrat—”_

_“Okay!” Lydia jumps up, going over to pry him off of the speakers that were now blasting_ Like a Virgin _. “I think you should come over and sit back down,” she tells him with a pat on the back before ushering him into his previous seat beside Scott. She falls into the one next to that, blowing out a breath and shaking her head at a smirking Isaac._

_“Can’t blame the guy,” the smirking boy speaks, picking up his own glass of whiskey and swirling it around a bit. “We’ve finally graduated, there’s a reason to let loose.”_

_“WHOOOooooo…” Stiles lets out in response, the vowel starting off loud and proud before decrescendo-ing into a small whimper as he reaches for his unfinished beer. Lydia slides it out of the way so his arm falls short. He doesn’t even comment on it. “Getting out of college and living independently, getting all that dough and making some mo-uh-ney,” he says as if he were rapping, laying the side of his face against the table. Lydia sighs dramatically._

_The other four return then, all with glasses of water for themselves and the three at the table, and a mug of black coffee for the drooling boy who was now mumbling along with Madonna. They all toast to their new lives, putting finals and kanimas and studying and golems and all the hardships from years past behind them. What a weird world they lived in._

_Before she could stop herself, as the gang around her launches into discussing the new season of_ Keeping Up with the Kardashians _, Lydia presses a hand to the middle of Stiles back, leaning over so he could hear her better. “Are you gonna be all right?” she nods to his now-empty mug, the color in his face dulled although she could tell from his twitching upper lip that he was still a bit tipsy._

_“I think so,” he nods, leaning closer to her ear as well so he could be heard over the growing crowd in the bar and the overhead music playing some Beyoncé smash._

_She smiles. “Don’t drink yourself into another stupor the minute I turn my back, okay? I just have to powder my nose.”_

_He nods. He was used to her motherly and protective ways over him when they went drinking—he was always the one to have too much, to not cut himself short, and she was always the one to make sure he washed it all down with caffeine and didn’t do it again later on in the night. It was a routine they fell into without meaning to, but since going out and drinking with their close friends had become a regular every-weekend sort of thing, they made sure to keep it up._

_He gives her a lazy salute as well as a languid smile on top of that. “You got it, boss.”_

_Another red-lipped smile glosses her features before she scoots her chair back and trails her way back to the bathrooms._

“An experience?” he repeats her last two words, turning around so they were face to face. He sits back against the counter and crosses his arms over his bare chest, crossing his legs at the ankles so he was in the perfect casual stance. “Sounds like I blew your mind.”

A breath releases itself from her mouth, one of relief and amusement. “Don’t get cocky on me, Stiles, or else I’m gonna be very disappointed I slept with an egotistical maniac.”

“Oh no!” he feigns hurt and surprise, rubbing at the skin right over his heart. “You slept with a skilled and thorough dude, whatever shall you do?” He beckons her over with a slight nod of his head, her feet stumbling forward on their own accord. He opens his arms and she falls into them, her head nuzzling in his collarbone as his chin finds itself resting on her nest of red hair. 

They stand like that for a few minutes, just breathing each other in, a mix of sweat and her perfume and just plain and good _sex_. It was a heady combination that made Stiles’ head spin as he strokes a hand down her spine subconsciously. 

“So, were you hoping I’d comment on your creepy decision to wear one of my shirts?”

Lydia hadn’t purposely gone on a hunt to find a shirt of his to wear—he had just left one strewn over the armchair in his room and who was there to stop her from slipping it on to see how it looked? She was gonna take it off, she swears, but had smelled bacon and journeyed out of his bedroom before she could do so. 

He takes a handful of the red flannel in his hand, bunching it up at the small of her back so the very edges of her lacy underwear were revealed. He ignores this, still grinning about the fact that she was wearing something of his.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” she admits, moving her head off his collarbone to look up at his face. He meets her gaze easily, enjoying the sparkle in her green eyes that she rarely used around him. “And I was also hoping it would tell you that I wanted to stay over a bit longer while I washed my clothes.”

Stiles cocks his head to the side, looking absolutely adorably confused as he narrows his eyes. “Not that I wouldn’t like for you to stay longer, but why would you need to wash your clothes?”

Her raspy chuckle graces his ears again. “You may or may not have puked on my dress last night.”

“Oh God,” he groans in embarrassment, burying his head in her hair as she laughs louder than Scott had when Stiles tried to convince everyone he was a were-goat.

_Lydia finishes touching up her mascara, her hands coming up to fluff at her hair after placing her make-up bag back in her purse. She runs a finger over her red lipstick, smoothing her lips together so it was evenly colored. Then she lets out a long big exhale, her shoulders drooping a bit at her reflection. “Whatever,” she mutters, grabbing her purse and pushing the door to exit the bathroom._

_“Shit!” she utters shortly once she was the in hallway, slapping a hand over her mouth as she hugs her bag close to her body. After seeing who it was leaning against the wall, waiting for her, she throws her arms down in annoyance. “Stiles! What are you doing perving outside of the girls’ restroom?”_

_“Making sure you got out safe,” he says, his words still a bit strung together as he was still trying to become fully sober again. “Needed to make sure you got out okay.”_

_Her eyebrows dip down as she reaches out to grab hold of his arm when he almost stumbled. “Why would I not have made it out? I was just washing my hands.” His eyes look frantically at her face, his head shaking as he squeezes his eyes shut._

_“Sorry, it’s just…” he reaches up with his own hand to run messily through his hair. “I didn’t…it didn’t feel right just letting you go off by yourself.” His fingers leave his head as he reaches forward, brushing them across her cheek to move an errant strand of hair off of it. Lydia feels her vision go blurry for a second, unsure of what he was saying. “Like…I got this dark feeling in the pit of my stomach…” he then presses his palm to the lower part of his abdomen, his face going a bit pale. “I wanted to make sure you were okay, I’ve always wanted to make sure you were okay.”_

_There was a small pause and Lydia swallows, giving a wry smile as a weird prickling itches the back of her eyes. “Stiles, you still have a bit too much alcohol in your system. Let’s go sit you down, yes?”_

_“I know you think I’m still that dumb, immature, over-obsessed boy from high school, but,” he was still forcing his eye contact on her, his eyes moving back and forth as if he were processing every angle of her face, "you understand me and make me better and I just want you to know that I’m here for you Lydia and that I hold my breath every day around—”_

_Too fast, it happened too fast. Stiles was suddenly bent at the waist, there’s the sound of a wet splash, and then her head is angling down to find the remnants of his stomach all over the front of her dress. He gasps for air for a couple of seconds before finding the energy to look back up at Lydia, his face nothing but one giant wince. “I am so sorry.”_

_After taking a moment to herself, to not only process that there was legitimate puke on her clothes but everything Stiles had just spewed to her, she takes hold of his arm and puts it around her shoulders. “Come on,” she murmurs, helping him gain the ability to walk again as she pulls them back toward the main part of the bar. “I think it’s time we got you home.”_

Stiles tightens his fingers over Lydia’s waist as he pulls back to make eye contact with her again. “I am so sorry, I really am. I know that was one of your favorite dresses.”

She shrugs, trailing her fingers across his shoulder and down his arm and back up again. Her eyes flutter as they meet his. “It’s fine, really. It was getting a bit tight around my torso anyway, so it was about time the thing be put to rest.”

“I doubt that, you haven’t gained a pound since we graduated _high school_. You’re just making up excuses so I won’t feel bad. Well, I’m here to tell you it’s not gonna work.”

Her eyes roll to the ceiling and back. “I was more concerned about getting you home and in bed. You were falling over your feet every two steps, so trust me, it was a feat.” His face flickers at that, her stomach curling in on itself. The little moles across the left side of his face go a little darker as he flushes in humiliation, her nose wrinkling at the cuteness of it all.

“I can’t believe I made such an ass out of myself,” he shakes his head, smoothing his hands over her sides again, almost like he just couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t stop assuring himself that she was here, real, bundled into his body so warm and so perfect. “Never, never let me drink again. The next time they call me up saying we’re going out drinking you take my phone away from me.”

Lydia feels herself smile again. “You say that every time you go out drinking.”

“That may be the case but this time I mean it. I puked on you and ruined your dress and also embarrassed you in front of everyone we hold near and dear,” Stiles rambles on, pushing the material of his flannel out of the way and cupping the bare skin of her waist without really thinking about it, just wanting to touch her and feel her and make sure she was truly in front of him and not another one of his stupid dreams. “God, I regret everything about last night.”

At that Lydia freezes and pushes back, eyes dropping and brows furrowing. “You…you regret…everything? As in, like, _everything_ everything?”

Stiles stares at her for a moment. “Lyds, what are you—” Then it hits him, his face falling and his mouth gaping. He lunges forward and takes her hands in his, his face close. “No, no, no! That’s, uh, that’s not what I meant! I meant throwing up on you and – and – and getting drunk and—” He stops, taking a deep breath. “I don’t regret last night. Okay? It’s something I’ve wanted for—oh God, _years_ , Lydia. Please don’t doubt that.”

Her lips curl up in a small smile, her hands running up his arms again. “I don’t.”

_“Oooookkaaaaaaay,” Lydia draws out as she pushes them into Stiles apartment, the keys dangling from the lock and the light from the building’s hallway spilling across his hardwood flooring. Stiles smashes his face against his door, groaning against the wood. “We have to get you into bed.”_

_“How the fuck did we get here?” he mumbles, his voice heavy and holding the quality of someone who just woke up from a too-long nap. She holds back on thinking it was really adorable._

_“We came from the bar, remember?” Her body attempts to angle him towards the direction of his bedroom but instead he sags further, almost crumpling to the floor had she not pushed him into the door harder so he would stay standing. “You’re drunk, Stiles, just let me put you to bed so I can go home and shower and get your puke off of me.”_

_He’s up in a flash, eyes wide and mouth hung open as if it were a door that was ajar. Lydia furrows her brows, wondering why he was suddenly able to support himself. “_ I puked on you? _”_

_She exhales sharply. “Yes, Stiles, that’s why I brought you home. Now. Go to_ bed _.”_

_He shakes his head, as if trying to get water out of his ears. “What time is it?” He looks around and Lydia closes her eyes in frustration at the fact that he was now_ finally _sobering up. “How long were we out with everyone else?”_

_“It’s only about one in the morning,” she tells him, beginning to drag him to his bedroom. “But you came home early because I made you come home early.” She throws open his bedroom door and shoves him in, his figure immediately faltering and crashing onto the bed. She blows hair out of her face and leans with her hand on the doorknob, ready to shut it and leave him to wallow in his hangover. “Anything else you need from me? Advil? A trash can? Soup?”_

_“Advil,” he moans into the bed, throwing an arm in a half-assed point to his restroom across the way. Lydia walks toward the open door and searches his mirror, grabbing the little white bottle and dumping two pills into her palm._

_“Advil,” she confirms as she comes back into the room with a glass of water, watching him roll over onto his back and sit up with many audible grunts. He takes both from her._

_After he had drained his glass and set it on the floor beside him, there’s a thick moment of silence where neither knows what to say to the other. Lydia eventually clears her throat and makes a move toward his bedroom door, feeling awkward and suddenly uncoordinated in her heeled boots. “Uh, get better, okay? Call me tomorrow if you’re still not—”_

_“I meant it.”_

_She stops and half-turns, her profile in his line of sight. He was still sitting up in bed, his eyes trained on her but a bit unfocused, almost as if he were seeing through her._

_Her mouth goes dry. “You meant what?”_

_“That I hold my breath around you every day.” His voice was thick, thicker than the air was around them, and he was breathing a little more heavily, as if he were nervous. “I can never breathe around you, Lydia. Like my lungs can’t find the air.”_

_A dull thud was pulsing in her ears, getting faster and faster the more she let the sentence dangle between the two of them. What was that? Why was it in perfect timing with her heartbeat? “Stiles…” Her lids droop as she finds her stare fixated on the carpet. “You’ve had a bit too much to drink, I’ll see you in the—”_

_“No,” he stands up, his body suddenly there, behind her, the heat seeming so good and familiar and so _Stiles_. “This dance is getting a little exhausting, don’t you think?”_

_Her lips couldn’t help but flick at the sentence, her mind wondering how in the hell she can always understand the stupid shit that falls out of his mouth. “Just because you said a few things to me under the influence of alcohol doesn’t me I am going to fall into your arms like some petty, insecure woman that needs to gain some confidence before she can gain herself a boyfriend.” Stiles smiles to himself behind her, loving the strong-woman rantings and the way her hair brushed against her elbows as she shifted backwards. Almost like she were being pulled towards the warmth moving off of him—no, stop it Lyds,_ pull yourself together _._

_“I didn’t say those things to try and make you feel better about yourself or to get you into my bed,” he immediately knocks her suspicions down, the dull thudding in her ears getting louder and faster and louder and faster. “I said those things because that’s how I feel, okay Lydia? That’s how I feel and no matter what I’ve tried all these years I can’t fucking find the oxygen and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe around you and I just—” He stops and she hears the unmistakable rustle of his hands shaking through his hair out of frustration. “You know what? Forget it—I’ll see you later.”_

_She could feel him turning away, could feel him going toward his bathroom and she whips around, her hair soaring every which way around her for a few moments before she finds the words to spew out. “My vision gets blurry around you sometimes and I hate that.” Her breathing was suddenly labored and it felt like she’d run a mile but she had been standing still and her brain was going through eight thousand things before finally just settling on Stiles._

_Stiles, who had stopped and had turned back to look at her over his shoulder, his brows low and his look confused. Almost the exact look he’d had when she’d finished kissing him in the locker room all those years ago, the kiss to make him hold his breath to stop his panic—_

_Everything stops. Her eyes blur again as she goes over what had just hit her._

_He was still holding his breath._

_Lydia finds herself dropping her bag, her feet moving on their own accord, her body colliding with his as she pulls his head down and kisses him. Not a drunken, sloppy, we’ll-regret-this-later kiss either. A kiss that took every part of her world and turned it upside down, a kiss that made werewolves and banshees and hunters seem trivial and like white noise compared to what she was feeling in this moment, his lips hot against hers and his arms winding their way around her waist._

_Once they had fallen back onto the bed it was like they were discovering each other for the first time, hands wandering and lips moving and skin brushing and nerves blazing. He assaulted her pale skin with kisses and caresses and words that were kind and words that were filthy and her head swam with all the emotions that she couldn’t keep at bay. And the whole time she just had to look at him, had to have his reassurance that he was breathing, because man, was he breathing strong and steady._

Stiles runs a hand back through her hair, the red tangles making him smile as she gazed up at him. “Are you just gonna keep looking at me or are you going to finish making us breakfast?” she teases, hugging him closer to her body all the same as she couldn’t get enough of the warmth she felt with him pressed against her. 

He sticks his tongue out childishly, his head ducking down to give her a chaste kiss on the lips. It made her entire body tingle. “I would, but someone distracted me by being in just a shirt. _Just_ a shirt,” he reiterates, his eyebrows going up to suggest it was her fault their food wasn’t ready.

“You’re just a horny boy, nothing here is my doing,” she corrects, brushing her nose against the side of his neck as she tip toes herself into a hug, her arms going up around his neck. Her mouth finds itself by his ear. “And maybe I wore it so you would get some ideas.” She brushes those full, rose-pink lips across his jawline, his eyes fluttering as an inhuman noise passes his lips. “And act on them.”

“You vixen,” he mutters before turning her head and kissing her for real this time, no holding back and no barriers. It was better than the first, a true testament to what kissing should always be like, and she knew she loved the way he cradled one side of her face while the other flattened itself against the small of her back, pushing her into him and holding her there. 

Because even though he was just a human, no supernatural or mythological qualities being possessed, she felt safe. Felt protected. 

_I’ve always wanted to make sure you were okay._

And as he cooks, flipping eggs and simmering bacon, she watches from the counter beside him, dangling her feet over the counter with her arms steady beside her knees, smiling and laughing at all of his jokes. And they really were all funny to her.


End file.
